An Original's Assistant
by Plaid Beans
Summary: Maria is given unimaginable powers, but they can't save her when she is dying in an alley. A mysterious stranger finds her curious and decides to save her... for something in return. Every Original needs an assistant, after all.
1. The Witching Hour

**AN: Hey! Just making sure that if your reading this it has nothing to do with my True Blood story. This is definitely a story based on CWs TV show **_**The Vampire Diaries.**_** The organization isn't even the same. Okay, enjoy. **

Nobody believes in monsters, at least, not the "monsters" we grow up hearing stories about. The things that go bump in the night, the creature under the bed or in the closet, whatever the fuck happens at the "witching hour;" no one really thinks that kind of stuff is real. Sometimes it's just easier to imagine the impossible than to face reality. Usually, the things that people think are the most unimaginable are actually not that unimaginable after all.

"I just can't believe it," My mom cried over the phone to some relative in Italy. She was standing outside my room, but the door was cracked open so I could hear each one of her excruciating sobs. Just hearing her sound so devastated was hurting me more than anything else that happened tonight. "How could this happen to my baby? Maria?"

I wished the door were closed. I didn't want to hear this, and I didn't have the emotional strength to comfort a distraught mother right now. But really, that wasn't my job. _She _should be comforting _me._

A nurse wandered into the room to check on me. There wasn't much to check on, except for the fact that I was still alive. I wasn't hooked up to any machines or IVs. She simply asked how I was feeling and if I needed anything with a sympathetic look on her face. I didn't believe her. With all the death and trauma and horror that hospital nurses see every day, I found it hard to believe she could muster up any _real _sympathy for me. She left after being in the room for less than thirty seconds.

I would have been out of the hospital by now if I hadn't been so stupid. It was just that, after everything that happened, I didn't know if I could handle it all. The world seemed so cruel and I was so weak. I kept thinking about how little I was, how weak I was. How stupid. How pathetic. How disgusting. I rummaged through the hospital room and found a pair of scissors. Why didn't I wait until I was home? They were going to release me that day, but I wasn't thinking. My state of mind was a mess at that moment. Those scissors were looking really friendly, but I wasn't going to do anything. I had made up my mind before the nurse found me in the bathroom, but of course she didn't believe me. "I wasn't going to do it!" I told her. As if she hadn't heard that one before. I should have said I was cutting off an itchy tag or something. But, like I said before, my state of mind was a mess. It had improved dramatically after that, because I had finally made my own choice—to live. At the very least, I could make that choice for myself.

I was released after the mandatory 48 hours of suicide watch, when the doctors determined I wasn't a threat to myself or anyone else anymore. At the time, that was an accurate conclusion. I had made up my mind to not take my own life, and I had never thought myself capable of harming anyone else. But its funny how people can change.

It was Thursday and I had no intention of going back to school. I had missed most of the week and was going to be ridiculously behind in all my classes. I didn't have the mental endurance to power through one long, tedious, boring class after another. And just imagining all the curious, sympathetic, and judgmental stares I was going to receive made me want to vomit. So when my mom told me to go to school I promptly went to next door to Mrs. Crowder's instead.

My neighbor was one of the few people I knew who was honestly a great person, but you would never have guessed it if you didn't know her personally. A stranger would see her and think she was some crazy, bitter, old widow. She tended to just peer out her window all day, scowling at the world. Now I knew that's just because her face tends to contort into a scowl, not necessarily because she's mad, just because she was upset for so long after her husband's death that it just stayed that way.

For most of my life my only contact with Mrs. Crowder was watching her fumble with her mailbox at the front of her yard. She always seemed to have trouble opening it without leaving the confines of her property. She had her food delivered to her house from the grocery store, and she didn't own a car. Granted, we did live in New York City, so a car was not exactly necessary, but still. Neither my mom nor I had ever seen her leave her property, and we eventually heard a rumor that we accepted as truth: Mrs. Crowder hadn't left her property since her husbands death almost eight years prior, just before my family moved to New York from Italy. Mrs. Crowder was agoraphobic.

When I was 12, I started to help her out a little. At first, I would just grab her mail for her after school and bring it to her door. Then I started grabbing her one of the free newspapers from school too. When we started talking, I realized she was actually pretty interesting (for a crazy, old widow) and we had the same sort of sarcastic humor. I offered to buy her groceries for her, and she started feeding me dinner. And that worked out fine for me, because my mom worked the nightshift as a custodian at the local hospital, so my options before Mrs. Crowder were limited to whatever I could microwave.

My home life wasn't all that spectacular. Between school and my mom's work, I almost never saw my mom. My biological father was dead. They both emigrated from Italy when I was four, but my father died in a car accident shortly after they arrived. Recently, and for reasons unknown to me, my mom managed to find the most obnoxious boyfriend: Butch. In my head, I call him Butch the Bitch.

Mrs. Crowder lived next door to me, and I supposed she could hear the fighting that goes on between all members of the house. Shortly after I started talking to her, she asked if I wanted to stay at her place after school. It was a nice gesture, and I took her up on it. I would do my homework, read, and eat dinner with her, and then sneak back to my house to sleep. This sort of thing became normal, and I almost thought of Mrs. Crowder as my own grandmother.

"You're mama told me what happened to you, Maria," Mrs. Crowder said with a sigh. "It's unbelievable. I just can't imagine what you're going through." Apparently no one could believe that what had happened to me was possible. I knew better.

"I shouldn't have been walking by myself that late," I told her, making excuses for what had happened to me. As if it would somehow make the pain less extreme if I could pinpoint a reason why life had handed me such a cruel hand of cards.

"No, Maria, this is not your fault. Don't you even think that for a moment." She was clutching my hands in hers, trying to squeeze her knowledge into me.

"It's easier to think that there's something I could have done better than to just think that it was always going to be this way," I admitted, and it was the truth. How could life just be so terrible without there being some reasoning behind it? Could life really be just that random? And if it was, why was I so damn unlucky?

"Maria, you can't think like that, because then all you'll have is regret."

I didn't want to tell her that I knew that's all I had. If I could write an encyclopedia on the regrets I had, it would need more volumes than alphabetical letters could provide. I shouldn't have gone home that night. I shouldn't have stayed up so late. I shouldn't have fallen asleep in school. I shouldn't have gotten detention. I shouldn't have walked home by myself after dark. I shouldn't have taken that shortcut. I shouldn't have made myself such an easy target…

I could think of a hundred more regrets, but my brain couldn't comprehend that kind of self-loathing. Instead, I just started to sob.

Mrs. Crowder leaned out of her motorized wheelchair and hugged me with her short coffee colored arms, letting me cry into her shoulder. When I was finished, what felt like a year later, she grabbed my hands, kissed them, and held them to her chest. "Maria, I never want you to feel that vulnerable again. I'm going to help you."

"You can't," I choked out.

"Stay still. I'll be right back." Mrs. Crowder was gone for a minute before she returned with a big, old, dark book and some candles.

"What are you doing?"

"Be quiet, darling, I'm going to help you."

She flipped through the book until she found the page she was looking for. "Close your eyes." I shut them for a moment, and when I opened them all the candles were lit. "I said shut them, Maria. Keep them closed tight."

I shut my eyes again, a little perplexed about the candle thing, but I was prepared to follow her directions. She grabbed my hands and began to rub them in her own while she started to mumble something I couldn't understand. I tried to listen for words I knew, but quickly realized there were none. I didn't know what language she was speaking, but it wasn't English. I felt the room get hotter and Mrs. Crowder squeezed my hands. Then I realized the heat wasn't coming from the room, but from within me. It started in my hands, and traveled up my arms to my heart and then my head and down to my feet. I felt awake—no, alive. There was some spirit inside of me that she was bringing to life. When it was completely awake and the heat inside me had reached a peak, Mrs. Crowder stopped her mumbling and let go of my hands.

"What happened, Mrs. Crowder?" I asked when she failed to say anything. "I feel different now." That was an understatement. I felt 100% changed.

Mrs. Crowder was wheezy, and she turned her wheelchair over to the sink to get a glass of water. "You can protect yourself now, from anything."

"What?"

"Maria, you're safe. I promise." She was still breathing with difficulty, so I stood up to help her. She waved me away. "I'm fine. You should go."

That made me uncomfortable. Mrs. Crowder never told me to leave; I was always welcomed at her house. But whatever she had awakened within me seemed connected to her, and it was telling me to leave as well. "Are you sure Mrs. Crowder?" I asked uneasily. I didn't want to leave her alone if she wasn't feeling well.

"Yes, Maria. I am. I love you."

It was the first time she had told me that, but I wasn't surprised. I felt the same way about her. "I love you too."

I would have said more if I had realized then what she had done for me. (Add that to my list of regrets). Unfortunately, I never got the chance to thank her. I found out she died that night two weeks later. I didn't make it to her funeral.

It was still the middle of the school day so I couldn't go home for another few hours. I usually got home around 4, and that's when my mom left for her nightshift at the hospital. It was the middle of the day, so it was pretty safe to walk around by myself now. I was surprised that I wasn't more anxious about being alone considering everything that had happened to me, but I was actually really confident. I felt safe in my own skin, which was something that had been utterly destroyed just four days ago.

I wandered around the Bronx for hours, just detoxing. I hadn't been alone since my near suicide, and it felt good to just be myself. No, it felt better than good. Something was different about me, I just couldn't figure it out yet.

Four o'clock rolled around and I returned home. I opened the door and saw Butch was sitting on the couch watching TV. I cringed inwardly. There was nothing that could ruin any semblance of a good mood like having any contact with my mother's scumbag boyfriend.

I didn't say hello to him, and instead tried to sneak to my room without distracting him as to avoid any confrontation at all. Surprisingly, it worked. He didn't say anything to me.

I flicked on the radio and lay down on my bed. Suddenly, I heard Butch grumble and the couch creaked. Damn, and just when I thought I had avoided him.

He pushed open my unlocked door and gaped at me. "When the fuck did you get home?" he snapped at me. His tone was harsh but his eyes were just perplexed.

"Just now," I told him honesty.

"What? Did you sneak through the goddamned window or something?" My green eyes flickered over to the window. There were thick steel security bars that ran the length of the small window, serving both as a means of keeping the evil out and me in. I was pretty sure a contortionist couldn't even squeeze into this prison.

"No, I came in through the front door and then came here," I answered, trying not to sound condescending after listening to his moronic question. "You probably just didn't see me because you were watching TV," I assumed. That made him mad.

"I'm more than capable of watching TV and seeing you walk to your room," he barked at me. "Next time, tell me when you get back," he demanded, and slammed my door shut.

It had been a pretty mild encounter, but, as always, it was still undesirable. It was strange that he hadn't seen me come in though. I essentially had to walk right behind the TV to get to my room. Butch must have really been out of it to not notice me.

I decided to get a snack, and left the room to get whatever junk food we had in the cabinets. I found an almost empty bag of Doritos, and started to head back to the room. I was standing behind the TV, about to go into my room, and Butch just kept looking at the screen. He didn't even seem to see me, not that I really wanted his attention. I was staring right at him, but he didn't acknowledge me at all. Something about this struck me as very curious. I decided to test this.

I walked over to the TV so that I was directly behind it and waved at Butch. His brown eyes just appeared glazed over at whatever crappy reality TV show he was watching. I clapped my hands, and his slight jump showed me he clearly heard the sound. But by the way his eyes darted around the room, it was evident he didn't know where the source was.

This was all so strange. Why couldn't he see me?

And that's when I turned and saw the mirror across the room.

I should have been reflected in that mirror.

Instead, there was no one.

I screamed and jumped out of the mirrors sight. My feet tangled with each other, and I tumbled to the floor, breathing heavily. What was wrong with me?

"What the fuck!" Butch yelled, leaping to his feet. He stomped over to me and continued to shout. "Where the fuck did you come from? Why are you screaming?"

Butch's big hand reached down to grab my upper arm, but the last thing I wanted was for him to touch me. His hand wrapped around my arm, but suddenly fell away… or through? I quickly scooted away from him, and got to my feet.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. This time, my shocked face was reflected back at me. I wanted to stare at this mirror for another hour out of curiosity at this invisible-visible phenomena, but Butch began to interrupt.

"W-what…?" Butch stuttered in shock. He wasn't used to not being able to catch me when he wanted to deal out some punishment. "Get back here!" He reached for me again, but this time he was just too slow. I darted away from him and to my room.

I was fast enough to lock him out of my room, but I knew by the pounding of his fist that the lock would give-way any moment. The lock only had strength enough for four Butch pounds, (I had measured this many times), so I had limited time to think.

The window.

Suddenly I was next to the window, sliding the glass up with my fumbling hands. The window was probably too small for my body, but somehow I had a feeling this would work. I pressed my hand into the metal bars that locked me into my room and wished— I wished so hard it was will— that I could leave this room.

And then my hand phased through the bars.

I kept pressing into the bars until my entire arm was out of the house, the bars appearing to slice through my shoulder blade, but I felt no pain. There was a tingling sensation where the bar was, but it felt no different than when my foot falls asleep in class. I pushed some more, and my head was out of the window. Then my torso.

I started to lose my balance and then the rest of me just sort of fell through the wall.

I landed hard on the cold cement, but quickly got to my feet. Butch's swears echoed out from the open window—he must have made his way into my room. I willed him to not see me just before I saw his face pressed against the security bars.

He was undoubtedly looking for me, but his menacing brown glare just grazed over me. I looked down. _I _could see myself, but it was evident that _he _couldn't.

What was this power that I had now? I could be unseen and untouchable; Invisible and intangible. If I willed it, Butch couldn't touch me. If I willed it, he couldn't even _see _me. If I willed it, he couldn't hurt me anymore.

And boy, did I will it.

The power inside of me was strong, and it made me strong as well. But I won't blame it for what happened next. It may have given me the ability to do what I wanted, but the desire came from within me. And that desire was murder.

I wanted to kill, and I knew exactly whom my blood lust called for. Surprisingly, on the top of my list wasn't Butch.

It was four boys. Four boys who had ruined my life.

**AN: So this is just the first chapter and you'll get to meet the first Vampire Diaries character that I'm putting in this story in the second chapter. I hope to update every week. Thank you for reading! Review/ favorite/ alert/ message, exc., I love the support! **


	2. An Offer She Couldn't Refuse

I stood at the end of the alleyway, watching the group of them. Last time I saw them, I had imagined a group of more than a dozen, but in reality there was just four. They were standing in a circle, smoking cigarettes and talking in hushed voices. They couldn't see me.

I took a weak step forward, as if I were semi-conscious in some daydream, because I couldn't believe what I was about to do. My fingers ran along the metal of a baseball bat, one I had stolen from school while I had been plotting this very moment. My fists wavered between clenching the bat with all my might and barely holding on. I couldn't hide my nervousness from myself. I was anxious because I didn't know if I would continue, but I was excited because I could. I knew I could pull this off. I knew I _wanted_ to pull this off.

I wanted them all dead.

Another step forward, and a flash of horror raced through my mind as I remembered what they had done to me. They _deserved_ what was coming to them. And I deserved to have my revenge.

Three more steps. I was getting close to them. I could hear what they were talking about, but I didn't care about their conversation. They could be talking about becoming priests, adopting orphans, or fostering some crippled mutt and I wouldn't have cared. Nothing could change how I felt. And all I felt was rage.

I was so close to them now that I scared myself. They stopped talking because they heard my footsteps. I froze and soon they forgot about any ominous feelings they had. I raised the bat up, only a yard away from the leaders head.

Could I do this? Was I really a killer?

With as much force as I could muster, I swung the bat into his head and he collapsed to the ground. A horrible crack followed the blow, and all this friends jumped back at the sight of blood. "Marcus! Marcus!" They yelled and tried to revive him. "What happened?" "I don't know, he just fell." "It looks like something hit him."

An evil smirk grew across my face. Suddenly, just killing them wasn't satisfying enough; I wanted to torture them too. I swung the bat into a trashcan, and sent it tumbling across the alley, spewing waste everywhere. The three remaining boys jumped at the noise, one of them even screamed. "What the fuck is happening?" I swung the bat again, hitting another trashcan. They pushed back, farther down the alley, abandoning their friend bleeding to death on the ground.

Again, I decided it wasn't enough to just anonymously torture them. I wanted them to _know_ they were getting what they deserved. I wanted them to know it was _me_ who was going to kill them. I wanted them to know they hadn't beaten me. I was stronger.

I exhaled, and commanded myself to become visible once again. The three boys gasped. "Shit! It's that girl from before!" Good, they remember me. They should.

The smirk grew across my face at the sight of their terrified faces. I gave a silly finger wave, and raised the bat again. They all backed up because they could see that I was about to take another one of them down, so I quickly turned invisible again. I ran at them, and swung, hitting one of them in the leg. The other two ran around me, one even leaping over the first guy I incapacitated as if he were in the Olympics for hurdling. I tried to chase after them, but they were faster than me. I stopped running when I got to the end of the alleyway, and just watched them dart down the street.

I turned back, and the one I had hit in the leg was weakly clinging to the walls of the alley, trying to escape via hopping on his uninjured leg. Sauntering back over to him, I turned visible and threw out the bat in front of him to stop his pathetic escape. "Please," he begged. "Don't do this."

"After what you all did to me?" I retorted incredulously and raised the bat again. "Can you even blame me?"

"No, but…" His voice was wavering, and I could even see tears welling in his eyes. He knew I was going to kill him. And he knew that he deserved it, that they all deserved it. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice garbled by the oncoming sobs. "I'm sorry for everything, Maria."

He knows my name? I was shocked. I didn't imagine that they knew who I was. I just thought they attacked me for no reason. Maybe they _had _attacked me for no reason, but afterwards learned my name. Either way, the sound of my name frightened me. It reminded me that I wasn't some vengeful killer, that I was still the same person I had been my whole life. I was still just 16-year-old Maria, although now I was a Maria who had suffered greatly and had unimaginable powers. But still, despite all that, I was still me.

And I really wasn't a killer.

I lowered the bat, and gestured for the boy to go. I've never seen a cripple move so fast. A minute later he was out of the alley and on his merry way… more or less. I stood there and watched him, even when he was far down the street. The bat fell from my hands, because I had no use for it anymore. Revenge hadn't helped me; it wasn't the cure I thought it would be. I was still alone. I still felt disgusting. The only thing this had showed me was that I wasn't angry with my attackers; I was angry with myself.

Suddenly, I heard the crunch of a footstep behind me. I spun around only to meet the bloody face of the boy I thought I had killed. He was sneering at me, I think, but it was hard to tell with the blood all over his face. I gasped, and tried to back away from him, but I was too slow.

A sharp pain erupted from within me. I looked down at my stomach just quickly soon enough to watch him pull a three-inch switchblade out of me. _Why didn't I phase?_ I thought as I fell to my knees.

"Stupid cunt," the boy hissed, and threw the knife to the dirt next to me. "Now you'll be a real ghost." And then he wandered off, looking like a bloody zombie, leaving me to die.

_He's right,_ I realized as I touched my gut. I pulled my hand away and it was soaked in blood. So was my shirt. _I'm not going to survive this._

I was already starting to feel lightheaded. _I need to lie down,_ my body told me. _No, you need to get help. That's the only way you'll survive this,_ the rational part of me retorted. But my body was in control, and I slumped to the ground, lying next to my bat and my killer's knife. I had my hand pressed against the wound, but it wasn't stopping any of the blood from rapidly pushing its way out. I don't know what he stabbed, but it must have been something vital. My vision was already starting to get blurry.

I decided to try and get help. Without a cell phone, my only hope was if someone heard me and called an ambulance. I shouted as loud as I could, "Help! Help, please! I've been stabbed!" My voice wasn't as loud as I had anticipated, it sounded kind of raspy and broken. I swallowed some spit and tried again: "Can anyone hear me? Help!"

The black spots that had invaded my vision were starting to blind me. There was a thumping in my head that blocked out most noises as well. I hoped that thumping was the sound of my heart, but I couldn't be certain. All I knew was that I couldn't hear anyone coming to my aid.

"Help, please… Anyone?" I couldn't even tell if my voice was carrying out of the alley or if I was just whispering now. The black spots that had only pestered my vision seconds ago were now consuming it. I barely was able to sense a figure standing over me.

"H-Hello?" I asked the air, although I hoped there was someone standing over me. "Help me, please. I'm dying."

A cold hand touched my face, moving my blonde hair from my eyes. "Yes, you are." The hand then touched my abdomen, near the stab wound. "He severed your abdominal aorta. You'll be dead in three minutes."

I gulped back a dry patch in my throat. Tears started to roll down the sides of my face, and I wondered somewhat deliriously if that's why I couldn't see who was standing over me. "Please," I begged him, my voice coming out in a cracked whimper, "Help me."

"I will," he stated, and I sensed him leaning close to me. "As long as you promise to do something for me."

It was difficult for me to understand the situation in its entirety. My body was failing, and my concentration was going down with it. I didn't fully comprehend that I was making a Faustian bargain. If I had been critically thinking at the time, which I was in no way capable of doing while dying, I would have known that no mortal would stumble across a dying girl and think of striking up a deal with her. Only a devil… or something close.

Unconsciousness was nearly upon me, and I doubted I would be awake or even alive much longer to find out the details of this deal. The stranger didn't move. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something. "Anything," I breathed sharply, "I'll do anything." A new batch of tears flooded my eyes. "I don't want to die," I repeated in a whimper.

"As long as you do what I say," he told me, "You won't."

I felt him press something against my mouth, and some metallic-y warm liquid touched my tongue. "Drink," he demanded. "You're going to be fine."

And I obliged.

I woke up with a start, lying in my own bed. I was breathing sharp, shallow breaths that occur with night terrors. A thin layer of sweat covered my body. Leaping out of bed, I hurried to the bathroom to look in the mirror.

My memories of last night were spotty at best, but they were coming back to me quickly, in pieces. I stood in front of the mirror, shaking, and lifted up my t-shirt.

Nothing. No gash. No blood. No injury. I was perfectly fine.

I looked down. I was wearing different clothes, my pajamas. I didn't remember putting them on. In fact, I didn't remember anything from last night after the attack. _Oh my God,_ I thought nervously, _what is happening to me? How am I fine? How am I not dead? _

"Maria!" My mom called from another room. "Get ready for school!" she shouted in Italian. I spouted back some weak reply and left the bathroom to grab clothes.

_Maybe it was all a dream. A very, very lucid dream,_ I told myself. I'm not hurt. And I clearly went to sleep in my own bed last night. But I couldn't remember coming home. I could remember more of my "dream" then I could remember of what actually occurred. But I didn't let that gap in logic keep me from believing what I wanted. And I wanted to believe that I hadn't almost died the night before.

I kissed my mom and hurried off to school. The day went by pretty quick, because I was so distracted with my own thoughts. I barely noticed the stares and whispers I had feared so much the day before. I did notice, however, that none of the guys from my "dream" were at school that day. Perhaps they were just ditching, it was a fairly common practice for Fridays. Either way, I couldn't use them to confirm or deny what had happened the previous night.

Before I knew it, I was already walking back home. I was so engulfed in my own thoughts that I hadn't even noticed a man that walked straight into.

"Oh my," I gasped, knocked back by the force of bumping into him. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

"It's perfectly fine, Maria," he replied with a small grin. I was taken aback, because I definitely did _not_ know this man. And somehow he knew my name? Awkward.

I laughed nervously. "I, uh, I'm sorry. Do I know you from somewhere?" I asked as politely as I could.

He just kept the same cool smile. "Yes. We met last night." My eyes widened. _Is this the guy…?_ I started to think. _No. It can't be. That was just a dream. _

In my dream, I hadn't been able to decipher more than a silhouette of a man. I figured the man was tall, about six feet, with dark hair. I supposed that if my dream had actually been real, this man could fit that description. But I wasn't buying it.

This stranger had short brown hair with some longer pieces in the front that went down to his eyes. He had piercing brown eyes, and a pleasant white smile. But something felt off about him, and I didn't like it.

"I don't think we did. Sorry, you must have the wrong person." I told him, and tried to gracefully make an exit. But the stranger saw right through me.

He grabbed my arm and asked, "Well, you are Maria, aren't you?"

"Let go of me," I demanded under my breath. I didn't want to make a scene. There were very few people around, but they were people who knew me, and knew what I had been through. I didn't need another story circulating about me being attacked.

"I don't have to," he replied. "You can get out of his yourself, can't you?" My eyes widened. He _did_ know me. I glanced around, but I was too scared to notice if anyone was watching me.

"Please," I begged him. "Just let go of me."

"No." And he squeezed my arm so tight, I thought it was about to snap in half. Instantly, and instinctually, I phased out of his painful hold. His grin widened into a smirk. "Brilliant," he said, mostly to himself.

I took several steps away from him. "What do you want?" I snapped at him.

"I want you to come with me."

I decided to humor the crazy stranger out of curiosity. "Where?" I asked.

"Out of New York. You're going to work for me for a while."

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving my home, sorry."

"You promised me last night that you would do anything if I saved your life. And now I'm here to collect."

"Last night…" I hummed. "I don't even remember last night. And anything I said to you then, I didn't mean. In fact, I'm not sure I even met you."

"You tried to kill some boys, got stabbed, and were bleeding to death in the dirt when I graciously saved your life. Ring any bells?"

"Not even one," I hissed back at him. "Now leave me the fuck alone. Okay?"

I tried to hurry away from him, but he was fast too. Suddenly he was in front of me again, and I hadn't even seen him move. "I'll give you until midnight to sever ties with your family and whoever else. But then we are leaving."

Then, he just turned and walked away. I took advantage of that and ran the rest of the way home. My mom wasn't home, but Butch was. I ignored him, as usual, but he was itching for a fight. It was almost four in the afternoon and he was already drunk.

"Maria!" He shouted from the couch. Inwardly I cringed. Why hadn't I taken advantage of my invisibility and snuck around him? I was _so_ not good at this.

I was already in my room, about to shut the door, but I reluctantly headed back out to see him. "Maria, I found this… disgusting piece of shit in your room." He held up my shirt between his pointer finger and thumb; the shirt I had been wearing in my "dream." Although, clearly it had_ not_ been a dream, because it was saturated in blood. My blood.

Butch slowly pulled himself out of his reclining chair and flicked the shirt at me. "I don't ever want to find any of your bloody, lady shit lying around my house again. You hear me, girl?"

My patience was thinning, starting from the encounter with the mysterious stranger. I couldn't tolerate Butch the Bitch's shit, not today. I snatched the shirt out of the air and held it up. "A," I started, "This is not menstrual blood, you dumbass. It's on a shirt. It's just normal blood." Butch's face turned tomato red at the insult, but I couldn't stop my mouth from spewing out more hate. "And B, this is not _your _house. You are just some mooching scumbag taking advantage of _my_ mom. You don't do shit around here, and everyone knows it."

"You little bitch!" He exclaimed, his face contorting with furry, and he charged at me. I quickly spun on my heels and darted for my bedroom. This was getting to be a habitual escape tactic, and I managed to beat him to my room just like last time.

"And C, don't you ever come in my room again, you sack of shit!" I hollered through the door.

"Argh!" Butch yelled as he pounded against the door. "I'm fucking coming in there and teaching you a lesson on how to speak to me, you little bitch. I hope you like feeling my belt, 'cause you're well due for a meeting with disciple." He started to kick the door, and that's when I knew he was coming in. The doors in our old house could certainty not withstand a grown adult kicking it. Exactly four kicks later, he was in the room.

Butch was blocking the doorway, and he laughed at me, because I was standing with my back to the far corner of the room. Slowly, he removed his belt and folded in his hands, into prime whipping shape.

But this time, I wasn't afraid. "Come at me, Butch," I taunted him, "I only see one bitch in this room, and it's you. Come on: hit me. Hit a girl. Do it. Hit me like you hit my mama."

He charged at me, belt in the air, but when he swung it down it missed. I hadn't moved, and the belt was right inline to hit me, but I phased through it so it just cracked against the wall instead of my side.

Butch gasped and quickly backed away from me. He was drunk, but even he knew something wasn't right. "Yeah, Butch, you can't hurt me anymore," I jeered at him, moving closer. I snatched the belt from his hand and raised it in the air. "But I can hurt you." And then I brought it down, smacking him across the face. He tried to dive at me, but I phased through that too and hit him again on the ass. He yowled in pain, and scrambled out of my room. I turned invisible and followed him. When he turned around to see where I was, I could see the confusion spread across his face. "I'm still here," I goaded and brought the belt down on him again. "Get the fuck out of my house, my life, and my mom's life," I demanded, hitting him for each of the three demands.

He was screaming in a mixture of pain and terror, as he ran towards the door. I turned visible long enough to watch him bolt out of the house, and I slammed the door shouting, "Good riddance to you, Butch the Bitch!"

My mom's shift at the hospital was from 4 to midnight. She wouldn't be home before my deadline with the stranger. I wondered what he would do if I refused. Did he even know where I lived? I figured he must, because he must have been the one who brought me home… And changed me out of my blood clothes. That's creepy.

I didn't want to leave, and my immediate thought was that I wasn't going to go anywhere without a fight. But then I realized, what was the point in fighting? I had powers beyond belief. If I didn't want to go somewhere, there was no way in hell any weird stranger could force me to leave. He may have saved my life, but in my book, that was worth a thank you card and nothing more. Certainly not indentured servitude or whatever this crazy was planning for me.

Meandering over to the kitchen, I found a can of whip cream in the fridge and brought it back over to the living room where I lazily relaxed on Butch's favorite chair. I refused to worry about this deadline the stranger had given me. After all, I had finally scared off the man who had been verbally and physically abusing my mother and I for the past two and a half years. I should be celebrating! And with that logic, I started watching MTV with a smile on my face.

"You don't appear to be packing," a cold, calculative voice spoke from directly behind me. The closeness of the voice startled me more than the voice itself. The can of whip cream fell from my hand and clattered to the floor. I leapt out of the chair like a rabbit on steroids, moved a safe distance away from the stranger, and quickly turned around.

The stranger was standing in my house.

"What the fuck are you doing in here?" I screamed, my heart racing.

"Just checking in. Seeing if you were using your time wisely." His brown eyes darted around my dreary living conditions and landed on the can of whip cream before turning back on me. "I'm not convinced you are."

The powers had ignited my dormant confidence, which I had used to rid Butch from my life and had attempted to use to kill four boys. However, the confidence disintegrated with the strangers penetrating, intelligent stare on me. I gaped at him for a second before the stare became too much for me and I had to look away. "I-I'm not going with you," I told him, although it came out as a mumble.

Instantly, the stranger was standing directly in front of me. He had managed to move around a chair and more than twelve feet in a matter of nanoseconds. I quickly jumped away from him again. "W-What?" I stuttered in shock. "How do you do that? Move so quickly?"

The man didn't answer my question. Instead he motioned towards the door. "If you aren't going to pack, I would prefer we leave. I'm behind schedule as it is because of you."

Everything was happening so quickly it was overwhelming. I didn't want to go with him. "I don't even know who you are!" I finally managed to spit out.

He smiled, but I didn't find it very comforting considering the situation. He tilted his torso forward, in what I quickly realized was one of those old-fashioned bows and held out his hand. "I'm Elijah," he introduced. "I saved your life, in case you forgot."

**AN: Thank you for reading. New chapter up in a week (with any luck)! Thank you to my first two reviews :D Reviews/favs/alerts are always appreciated! **


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